


Misguided

by Black_Crystal_Dragon



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Apple of Eden, Battle, Challenge Response, Crowley just hung out with the wrong people, Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), Eden - Freeform, Falling is a process, Garden of Eden, Gen, Heaven, Heaven & Hell, Heaven vs Hell, Hell, Pre-Fall (Good Omens), References to Paradise Lost, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), brief Biblical reference, war in heaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-15
Updated: 2007-06-15
Packaged: 2020-06-26 00:10:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19756582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Crystal_Dragon/pseuds/Black_Crystal_Dragon
Summary: Before Crowley, there was Crawly. And before Crawly, there was Gadrael.A story of Crowley's Fall.





	Misguided

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Crowley’s Fall Challenge](https://lower-tadfield.livejournal.com/670299.html) way back in 2007 on Livejournal, which asked some really interesting questions! ~~I am mildly tempted to revisit this concept now, with the TV adaptation in mind.~~
> 
> There's two quotes from _Good Omens_ itself towards the end: both are italicised.
> 
> Archived to AO3 on 10 July 2019.

“Hello, Gadrael.”

The voice was low, and not quite menacing. Gadrael stopped and thought something unholy about the angelic enforcer of the law behind him. He plastered on a big smile before he turned around. “Ahadiel! Fancy seeing you here. I didn’t think you had the time to be wandering around these parts.”

“I wasn’t wandering, Gadrael,” Ahadiel said evenly, stepping away from the pristine white building he was leaning against. He clapped a hand down on Gadrael’s shoulder. “I was waiting for you.”

“Really?” Gadrael managed. He was suddenly highly aware of where he had just been, exactly who he’d been with, and what was currently balanced on the bridge of his nose, hiding his eyes. Ahadiel was smiling at him in a way that couldn’t really be described as unpleasant, but didn’t fill him with confidence either.

The other angel reached up with his other hand and took hold of the whisp of raw firmament Gadrael had made solid a short while ago, unhooking it from behind his ears and pulling it from his face. He peered at it, then raised his eyebrows. “What’s this?”

Gadrael shrugged. “Oh, nothing much. Just – uh – just an experiment.”

“But what is the purpose? What is it for?”

“It’s, uh. It’s like … to block out the light –”

Ahadiel’s eyebrows lifted even further. “To block out the Light?”

“Oh, no! No, not that Light! Gosh no!” Gadrael babbled. “No, just to – to – make it easier to see, when it’s very bright! Very bright around here, see? But, no – wouldn’t want to block out the – the actual Light, would I?”

He laughed desperately. Ahadiel smiled and, with a wave of his hand, returned the first of Gadrael’s many pairs of sunglasses back into nothing.

“I’d be very careful if I were you, Gadrael,” he said with a sigh as he turned him around. He started walking, pulling the smaller angel closer and sliding his arm around Gadrael’s shoulders.

“I would be very careful,” he continued, slowly, as if talking to a complete idiot, “because coming out with things like that could get you into trouble. People might start to think. And they would be wrong, wouldn’t they? You’re not a rebel, are you, little Gadrael?”

“No Ahadiel,” Gadrael replied, staring fixedly ahead, wishing that Ahadiel would let him go about his business in peace. Ahadiel smiled and nodded.

“Good. Because I’ve noticed that you’ve been spending quite a lot of time tagging along after Lucifer and his lot lately …”

“No Ahadiel, I’m not a rebel, not me. They just throw good parties, that’s all,” Gadrael said with a nervous laugh. Ahadiel’s face smiled, but his eyes didn’t. He very slowly took his arm away.

“Right. You look after yourself, Gadrael. And maybe get yourself uninvited from some of those parties. You know how I’d hate for anything to happen to you,” he said, barely hiding the sarcasm dripping from every word. Gadrael grinned at him and waited until he had flown away before he shuddered.

Ahadiel didn’t like him. Or, rather more correctly, Ahadiel didn’t trust him. Gadrael wrapped his arms around himself for a moment, taking deep, steadying breaths. He wasn’t entirely sure if Ahadiel should trust him. He had, after all, just been at what Lucifer termed his ‘little meetings’. Gadrael laughed humourlessly. Little wasn’t the right word.

‘Enormous’ might fit the bill. Gadrael always made sure he was at the back, pretty much out of Lucifer’s sight because he didn’t want the Seraph remembering him.

Of course, he never really paid attention to what was going on at the front. That wasn’t what interested him. He’d only ducked into one of the meetings in the first place to see what all the fuss was about. After all, he couldn’t be expected to make an informed decision about it if he didn’t even know what was going on. And then Lucifer had asked them all to stay, have a chat, play some music, and he had hung around for a while and it had been nice. The others had talked to him – Thrones had talked to him, when normally all he got was a disdainful glance. He went back because being spoken to civilly by them made him feel better. He went back for the sake of his own vanity.

At the meetings themselves, he usually just cheered half-heartedly when everyone else did and spent the intervening time peering furtively over his shoulder. The last thing he wanted was to be caught at one of Lucifer’s meet-ups. That wouldn’t do him any good.

However, he had caught on to some of ‘Their Illustrious Leader’s’ more fervent and radical ideas; they had set his wings trembling, and the memory was enough to send a shudder through them once again. They sounded terrible – unthinkable. Worse, they sounded punishable.

Maybe Ahadiel was right, Gadrael thought as he pulled himself together and spread his wings. Maybe he should uninvite himself, before it was too late.

~

Gadrael was really starting to regret the whole thing. Sure, they threw great parties, but once you’d been to a meeting or two the rebels got your face and your name and your Sphere. That was the catch.

They knew who he was, where he was from and what he did[1], and Gadrael had the horrible feeling that if he missed a couple of Lucifer’s gatherings in a row he would be hunted down. He wasn’t sure what the Seraph’s minions would do to him exactly, but he was absolutely certain that he didn’t want to find out. After all, they seemed to have no qualms about causing other angels pain; when Lucifer had suggested fighting for their cause a few moments ago, the angels around Gadrael had all but burst with excitement.

Ahadiel’s words replayed in his mind – _maybe get yourself uninvited from some of those parties_ – and not for the first time Gadrael wished he had taken his advice.

Gadrael glanced around him and realised that he was hemmed in on all sides by angels, all of them listening raptly to Lucifer’s every blasphemous word. He swallowed and gingerly eased himself into a corner at the very back of the mob, where he hopefully wouldn’t be noticed. Normally, he would have headed towards the door, but that seemed so far away, all the way across the other side of the room. He slid down the wall very slowly and wrapped his arms around his knees.

It didn’t block out Lucifer’s latest inspirational dialogue as he had half-hoped, but he stayed there anyway. Eventually, Lucifer finished preaching his nightmare vision, and the multitude of angels broke into spontaneous and wild applause, stampeding forwards towards the stage in an attempt to get closer to their role model.

Finally, they began to reluctantly disperse. Gadrael sighed deeply and climbed to his feet, turning to go. However, before he could take a step, cool fingers closed around his arm and tightened. He frowned and turned to find an angel he knew only by sight – the one who stood behind Lucifer on his platform while he spoke – was holding onto him. He opened his mouth to speak, but almost before he could take a breath the other angel leered, “The Boss wants you, my friend.”

Gadrael’s eyes widened, as did the stranger’s leer. He tugged on Gadrael’s arm and led him through the dissolving crowd towards Lucifer himself. By the time they arrived, most of the crowd had disappeared, but a small group of angels still clamoured at Lucifer’s feet.

Gadrael couldn’t help but stare at the Seraph as he spoke to them and wonder how God’s favourite could bear to plot against Him. It was easy to see why he was so favoured; Lucifer’s beauty went far beyond any of the other angels’, and his manner was always charming and parental. Gadrael would never have guessed that it was he who led the rebellion if he didn’t have the proof of his own eyes and ears.

Finally, Lucifer said his farewells to his little fanclub and looked up to meet Gadrael’s golden gaze. Gadrael froze instantly. Lucifer’s eyes – once bright gold or silver, green or blue, like all the angels’ – burned shades of red so dangerous that it was all he could do not to flee then and there. He dropped his gaze to the floor, choking back a cry of horror.

Lucifer chuckled. “Will you come over here, little angel?”

Gadrael didn’t dare disobey; Lucifer’s request was more of a command, as always. When the other angel released his arm, he approached without looking up, still able to feel Lucifer’s terrible, unnatural eyes upon him. When he reached the edge of the small crowd of admirers he stopped, but Lucifer beckoned him closer, to the very front. “I have seen you at my meetings before. Your name is Gadrael, yes?”

“Yes,” Gadrael replied, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. He braved a glance upwards and saw that Lucifer was smiling down at him with the air of a grandparent surveying a wayward but beloved child. He swallowed hard.

“And yet, you hide from me at the back,” Lucifer said with a sigh and a shake of his head.

Gadrael didn’t reply. Lucifer sighed once again, stretching out one hand and placing it on Gadrael’s shoulder. “Gadrael – you disappoint me! It pains me when my followers seem not to care for my cause. You do care, don’t you, little angel? You agree with what I have been saying about God and his selfishness?”

“Yes,” Gadrael managed, hoping that even though the Almighty was omniscient he wasn’t paying attention at the moment. Lucifer smiled, his red eyes blazing, and squeezed his shoulder gently.

“Good, Gadrael – very good! I can see that you will be loyal to me.” Lucifer’s fingers tightened on his shoulder and his voice hardened. “You will be loyal to me, won’t you?”

“I’ll do my best,” Gadrael grinned up at him, staring desperately into the archangel’s eyes and pretending that he wasn’t frightened, pretending that everything was normal. Lucifer’s hand slid from his shoulder and he backed away. “Uh – thank you. Your, um, Illustriousness?”

Lucifer’s smile was beatific, but Gadrael could only see his eyes and, reflected in them, the thousand little transgressions he himself had already performed. He raised a hand, grinning like a skull, and fled as slowly as he could manage.

Even when he started to really run, once he was past the group of gawking angels who had seen his audience with the Seraph and outside, he knew he had to go back. It wasn’t a question of what he wanted or what was right any more; he had no choice. Even Lucifer himself knew him now, by name – and even if he didn’t, what he had seen in those eyes alone was enough incentive to send him back to the rebels, time and time again, out of sheer terror of what they would do to him should he fail them. Gadrael shuddered and sped up, wishing that there was some safe, dark corner in this shadowless realm in which he could hide.

~

Then came the day[3] when all that would be Hell broke loose.

The Spheres rang with the sound of battle. For the first time Gadrael could remember, the light flickered and glowed with colours other than white – dark colours, blood colours, flaming from the blades of the archangels and seraphim and powers as they clashed and sparked and chimed with the sound of revolt and unholy retribution.

He cowered, his wings pulled up over his head and curled around him, hands pressed over his ears in a vain attempt to block out the terrible sounds.

He didn’t dare fight for either side. If he tried to do what he truly thought was right and raised a sword against one of the rebelling angels, chances were they would recognise him – yet if he fought with them, that meant losing with them too. Gadrael let out a low, miserable moan and pressed his hands tighter against his ears, lowering his head until it was between his knees.

For the first time in his existence, he wished that he could pray. He wasn’t sure if it was allowed.

The fighting seemed to be getting closer, tumbling outwards towards his hiding place on the edge of the most distant Sphere. Finally, when the general uproar separated itself into screams and clashes of metal-on-metal, Gadrael could ignore it no longer. Very slowly and tentatively, he raised his head and parted his wings, checking to see if anyone had found his hiding place yet. Then, once he had determined that the coast was clear, he climbed to his feet and peered around the edge of the building. Gadrael wished that he had stayed where he was.

On the outskirts of the battle, the angels who had lost or abandoned their flaming swords were fighting, using teeth and nails and sharp elbows. Gadrael, unable to tear his eyes away, saw a group of larger angels ganging up and picking off a smaller, weaker one – taking hold of an arm or leg and pulling, pulling, pulling in opposite directions. Gadrael tore his eyes away and looked down at his body – lithe and slender, built for speed, not for strength – and wondered if they knew or cared whose side anyone was on anymore.

Gadrael raised his eyes again to the mass of blood-slicked angels, most with their wings broken or cut off and still not stopping, tearing one another to pieces regardless, and felt something deep within him break. He didn’t want to be one of Lucifer’s lot, but if God was willing to allow this – angels ripping angels apart like worse-than-animals – he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to be on His side either.

He ducked back behind the building pressed his back to it, curling his wings around in front of him. He wanted to curl up and hide in a dark corner, but the Light, as always, was everywhere. He sank to his knees again and pressed his hands to his face. It was only a matter of time before the battle roiled over him and he was discovered and destroyed.

Then someone burst around the opposite corner of the building and leaned against the wall. Gadrael jerked and stared up at the angel, taking in the battle-stained armour and open helm of a Principality holding a very large sword.

The stranger still hadn’t noticed him; he was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed and sword resting against the ground, panting heavily as he healed the shattered bones in his wings. Gadrael swallowed hard and tentatively rose to his feet. He suddenly wished he knew where his own flaming sword was, or that he had bothered with armour before he ran away. The movement, however, attracted all the attention he had been trying to avoid. The Principality looked up and caught sight of Gadrael.

In an instant, his sword was raised and streaming golden fire. Gadrael stared at it, hypnotized by the flames dancing along the blade. Then the Principality took a step forward and he catapulted himself into the air.

He shot upwards, beating his wings in a frantic attempt to keep ahead. For a moment, the Principality matched him, but his injuries and the bulk of his armour slowed him and he fell behind. As Gadrael bulleted over the battle, other angels saw an easy target and came at him. They buffeted him with their wings, trying to knock him out of the air, but he dodged and kept his eyes firmly fixed on the horizon.

Gadrael didn’t stop running until he reached the central Sphere, where there was nothing but debris. There, he collapsed at the door of one of Lucifer’s houses, where he had once attended a meeting. There, he went still, wings bowed over his head while he waited for the cries of battle to ease back into the not-quite-audible music of the Spheres.

~

When Gadrael finally stirred it was much, much later. He slowly climbed to his feet, feeling weary and sick to the depths of his soul. He could hear voices, far off, as if through a thick fog, and wandered towards them.

He walked; his wings felt too tired and heavy for him to spread them. Gadrael put it down to his long, break-neck flight and ignored their sudden new weight upon his back. It didn’t seem to take him long to find other angels, most of them looking as lost as he felt and clutching at the vestiges of still-healing wounds. He carried on walking outwards, towards his own Sphere, ignoring them.

It surprised Gadrael when he reached the Gates. He came upon them by accident, and far more quickly than he would have expected. Then again, time was and always would be a tricky subject in Heaven, and it seemed even more out of joint than usual.

Then his sluggish mind caught on to what was happening and he stopped dead in his tracks and stared. There were angels – a huge crowd of them, of every rank in Heaven – clamouring at the closed Gates. They were on the wrong side.

Around the Gates was a throng of Seraphim, swords drawn and apparently waiting for some kind of signal. Other angelic ranks stood behind them and at their flanks, like auxiliaries. He licked his lips and waited, a sudden and terrible foreboding trickling down his spine and making his skin crawl.

There was complete silence for a heartbeat – then a shout and the golden gates swung open. Immediately, the rebel angels surged forwards, apparently desperate to get back into the Light.

The Seraphim, flanked by the Cherubim, rose up before they could more far forward, forming a net with their own bodies to prevent any of the rebels from re-entering Heaven. Then, once the Cherubim were in place at their backs, and the Thrones behind them, the Seraphim surged forwards as one, forcing the rebels back out beyond the Gates.

Gadrael cast his eyes out there, outside of the Light, and saw the angels of the rebellion were fighting with each other, desperately trying to re-enter the place they had called home. Then he looked out further and realised with a jolt why. A little way back from the Gates, the rebels simply dropped, as if over a sheer cliff edge, their wings flailing and apparently unable to bear them up again. Gadrael watched until the Seraphim, led by Michael and Gabriel, had driven the last of the rebels over the edge and then slowly descended to the ground and walked back to the cheering mass of angels waiting just inside the Gates for their triumphant return.

There was a flutter of wings beside Gadrael and he jumped and looked up. It was Ahadiel, battle-stained but thoroughly enjoying himself. “That, my friend, is called divine retribution.”

Gadrael swallowed hard and hissed, “What was that? What were they doing?”

Ahadiel’s smile was like a knife. “It’s the rebels. They’ve been driven out.”

Gadrael stared at him, incredulous. “To where?”

“Out of the sight of the Lord,” a voice said. Gadrael looked up to find Michael hovering a few feet away. His voice was pitiless. Gadrael’s eyes flickered to the sword slung over his shoulder. The archangel was peering at him intently, staring directly into his eyes. Gadrael licked his lips nervously.

“Right you are,” he said, taking a couple of steps backwards. “I’ll just move along then, shall I?”

Michael finally smiled, not unkindly. “Yes, little one. Move along. Go to the work God gave you.”

Gadrael waited until Michael had turned his attention back to his comrades before he started to walk away. Ahadiel, however, clapped a hand down on his shoulder and stepped close to whisper in his ear.

“Listen, Gadrael,” he said in hushed tones, looking over his shoulder to ensure that Michael was gone. “We both know you were scuttling about with that lot for a while, don’t we?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gadrael hissed, looking around furtively in case anyone could hear them.

“Don’t worry, Gadrael! I’ll put in a good word for you, should anyone ask …” Ahadiel murmured, patting him gently on the shoulder. “I’d just be very, very careful, if I were you.”

Gadrael swallowed hard. Ahadiel’s grip on his shoulder was like a vice, and in his eyes sparkled something like cruelty. He licked his lips, took another look beyond the Gates at the edge the angels had tumbled so helplessly over. He hadn’t been able to hear their screams, but he could imagine them. Ahadiel chuckled and released him. “Remember, Gadrael – that could have been you, if you hadn’t been so wise as to leave them.”

He stumbled away, as fast as his weary and now aching wings allowed him to move. He waited until Ahadiel stopped looking after him, then ducked behind a building and created a mirror for himself. He wanted to know what Michael had been looking at – or for – so intently.

His reflection was different to the last time he had indulged in such Vanity. He blinked, then blinked again, as if trying to remove a speck of dirt from his eyes. Then he sank to the ground, still staring at himself in surprise and horror.

Gadrael lifted one hand and touched the mirror, then raised it to the skin beneath one eye. Instead of shining, molten gold, his eyes were dulled to bronze. Worse still, he seemed to be developing pupils – vertical slits of pupils that made him look cruel and different and evil. He banished the mirror in a frightened, angry wave of his hand and watched the whisps of smoke it left behind dissipate into the atmosphere.

~

After that, it was only a matter of time. A little Sloth here, a little Envy there. A touch of Pride …

Then there were Gadrael’s newfound doubts about Him – the way He had simply allowed the angels to fight so brutally. So they were immortal, so they could regenerate dismembered limbs and not feel pain – that didn’t matter. He could have stopped it all with a word. If He loved them so much, how could He bear to see what Gadrael had witnessed?

His eyes steadily dulled from bronze to yellow; the shadow-pupils darkened within them until other angels started to notice and avoid him. Then Ahadiel found him, not hiding but not quite ready to leave – never ready to leave; as if he could be – and dragged him to Gates without a single word. Gadrael didn’t try to plead with him.

The Gates seemed smaller than the last time Gadrael had seen them, standing gaping wide to admit the screaming, terrified mob of rebel angels. Ahadiel pushed one of them open a little way and glowered at Gadrael.

“Get out,” he spat, jerking his head towards the Gates. Gadrael met his gaze squarely, and allowed himself a fraction of a triumphant smile when he saw Ahadiel’s face flicker at the sight of his new eyes. Finally, he turned towards the Gates and stepped through, head held high.

The cold was immediately and intense, raising goosebumps up and down Gadrael’s arms and legs. The ache in his wings, which had never really gone away, suddenly seemed ten times worse. Gadrael heard a soft snk noise behind him and turned to find the Gates closed to him and Ahadiel already walking away.

He licked his lips and reached out to touch the slim golden bars, perhaps to test their strength, but stopped an inch from the metal. He wasn’t desperate, not so desperate as to cling to the bars and beg to be let back in.

Gadrael shook himself and looked towards the edge the rebels had tumbled over. It seemed closer than it had looked when Michael and the others had driven the rebels out. Gadrael walked over to it and peered down. Despite the fact that Lucifer’s followers had tumbled over as if there was nothing to grab onto, Gadrael could see a rough cliff face. There was even a narrow, winding track that disappeared into mist and cloud a few metres down. He swallowed hard and looked back over his shoulder towards the Gates.

Inside, he could see an angel watching him, frowning as if concerned – but not trying to help. Just watching.

In that moment, Gadrael hated him. Whoever he was. He pulled a mirror out of the air and looked at his eyes, wondering if he would ever stop expecting to see gold. They had turned completely dull yellow now, the pupils clear and sharply defined – the outward sign that he was no longer fit for Heaven. He glared at the angel inside the Gates, then lifted one hand and gave a mock salute.

Then he turned his back on Heaven and sauntered along the path that led down the strange and ragged cliff-face. After a while, he looked back; behind him, there was nothing but white, swirling fog. He swallowed hard and tried to calm the sudden rush of terror that ballooned inside him. After a moment of panic, he steadied himself against the cliff face and carried on along the path that led steeply downwards, silently reassuring himself over and over that somehow, somehow he would come out on top.

~

The fallen angels were singing. 

He rested his head on his arms and listened with his eyes closed. Sharp rocks, heated by the fire of damnation that burned under the ground – just as it burned under his skin – dug into his belly, but he ignored the pain. It always faded, when his mind was lost in remembrance of heaven.

From his chosen spot – high above, on the lip of the valley the singers had retreated to – their words were lost in the distance, but the harmony was all he wanted to hear. It reminded him of the Spheres, and the music that had once echoed inside his bones. It reminded him of everything he had lost, but along with the grief it gave his spirit a sliver of relief.

It suspended the ache and horror of Hell, and allowed him a clear memory of everything he had given up. The memory only lasted as long as he kept his eyes closed, but when they were tight shut it felt as real and tangible as the tears it induced.

Sometimes, he could almost manage to convince himself that it was the stink of sulphur making his eyes stream.

Finally, he opened his eyes and climbed to his feet with difficulty; his wings still felt too heavy, and ached with torn ligaments and muscles. During his journey downwards, the path had ended and he had tried to fly, but something stopped his wings from bearing his weight and he had dropped like a stone, wings flailing, until he collided with the track once again. He didn’t want to heal them.

Worse were his eyes, but at least, because he couldn’t see or feel the change, he could forget. Sometimes.

He swallowed hard and swiped irritably at them before he turned away from the valley. Standing not ten feet away was Beelzebub, Lucifer’s – Satan’s second in command. The fallen archangel had insisted upon new names and titles, to go with their ‘new start’. Beelzebub smiled with his mouth, but not his eyes. “You. Here. Now.”

The little fallen angel who had once gone by the name Gadrael obeyed listlessly. Whatever the recently appointed Duke of Hell had in store for him, it couldn’t actually be any worse. Beelzebub looked him up and down critically, his lips twisting into a sneer.

“What the buggery does he want with you? You’re pathetic,” Beelzebub announced. The little fallen angel shrugged, curling his wings around himself protectively. Beelzebub snorted and shook his head. Then he unfolded his arms and grabbed him by the base of one wing, dragging him until the air.

“Come on, the Boss wants you. You don’t want to keep him waiting, do you? Or would you prefer for him to make your time here even more unpleasant?”

He could not suppress a whimper. Beelzebub barked a laugh and towed him towards the edge of Hell. He set a furious pace, slicing through the sulphurous atmosphere like a blade and hauling his captive after him, ignoring his free wing’s pitiful beating.

Finally, Beelzebub plummeted to the ground and deposited his prisoner on the ground. The little fallen angel looked up to see a sheer cliff face, much like the one he had descended in his Fall, into which were set three gates. The first gate was constructed from thin bars of dull brass, which were formed at the tips into outward-pointing spikes, probably to discourage any escape attempts. The second was a lattice of thick iron bars, like the gate of a prison cell, and the last was a flat plate of rock of the cliff itself. All three stood open wide enough to admit a host of angels, and revealed an inky darkness beyond.

On either side of the gates stood a figure, but Gadrael’s attention was drawn not to them but to Satan. He was standing before the gates with his arms folded, still wearing his golden battle armour. He nodded once at Beelzebub, who lashed out with one foot, kicking his captive towards the three figures and the open portal.

The fallen angel stumbled and fell to his knees before Satan. He remained there with his head down, unable to keep his wings from trembling. He kept his ruined eyes fixed on the floor. Satan approached and knelt beside him, placing gentle hands on his shoulders.

“I remember you, from before He took His revenge,” Satan said, his voice soft and gentle, but his eyes still roiling with terrible red fire. “You told me once that you would be loyal to me – Gadrael, wasn’t it? And yet you didn’t Fall with the rest of us … why was that, I wonder?”

Satan waited for an answer, slowly tilting his head on one side and tightening his grip until it was like a vice. After a moment he snarled, “Perhaps you lied to me – did you lie to me, little demon? Or would you do anything for me?”

“Anything,” Gadrael gasped wretchedly, closing his eyes. Satan’s nails seemed suddenly to be brutal claws, and he could feel his flesh burning under his hands. He hadn’t felt pain before, not like this, nowhere near as bad as this. “Anything you want!”

“Then I have a task for you,” Satan stated, finally releasing him and rising to his full height. “One that I dearly wanted to – and would – complete myself … if your fellows did not need me so desperately. Their despair is pathetic. They need me to whip them until they are better.”

Very slowly, the fallen angel on the floor looked up and met Satan’s burning eyes with his own. He somehow managed to hold his gaze for more than a moment and wondered if he had anything to lose. “What is it you want me to do?”

Satan grinned and jerked his head towards the portal. “Get up there and make some trouble.”

~

Earth was better – far, far better. With every light breath of cool wind across his skin, he could almost imagine himself back Up There, even without closing his eyes. Eden was so very close to perfection in the light of the morning that it tugged at his heart.

He took the form of the Serpent, after seeing it lying out in the sun – glistening all the beautiful colours of poison across its back while the coils of its belly shone like the burnished gold of angelic shields – and called himself Crawly. Then he introduced himself to Eve, who was all pretty curves where Adam was harsh angles, and whose eyes were gentle and understanding.

She doted upon him. Her fingers, smoothing along his scales, were softer than the tender grass. He liked it when she let him curl up her arm and around her shoulders, like a bizarre and heavy living shawl. She always told him he was so warm, warmer than any of the other beasts who let her stroke and pet them.

He didn’t have the heart or the courage to tell her that it was internal hellfire that she could feel, blazing just beneath his skin.

“You are the most beautiful of all the beasts, I think,” she said to him once, while his shimmering coils were draped over her delicate shoulders and his small, emerald head pressed rapturously against her rosy cheek. “You’re my favourite.”

Crawly’s tongue flickered against her skin and he closed his eyes. He wondered if it got any easier, obeying Satan’s orders. The humans weren’t so bad – at least, Eve wasn’t. He didn’t associate with Adam so much. The man spent too much time with Uriel and Raphael and the others who had been sent to watch over Eden. It bothered him sometimes – like now, and often when he was with Eve – that the humans had done nothing wrong but be His creation.

Then the moment passed as Eve gently lifted him from her shoulders and laid him on the ground. “Adam says I have to tend the Garden. It’s very important that we look after it, he said.”

“Why do you always do what he says, anyway?” he snapped, almost petulantly. She always talked about Adam, always told him what Adam said she had to do. It was maddening, and he already missed being able to wind himself around her throat in the closest this body could come to an embrace.

Eve gave him a perplexed look, and he realised that the very idea of not obeying Adam had never even crossed her mind. If he were in a form where it was possible, Crawly would have smirked. Instead, he slithered over the grass and rested his head upon Eve’s foot. “I’m just saying – seems a bit ssssssilly that he gets to be in charge. Ssso what if he was created first. You’re better than him. Prettier. Cleverer …”

And Eve blushed and looked away, and Crawly didn’t feel guilty at all.

~

The sun shining through the leaves of the huge tree dappled her face in light and shade as she looked up at him. He undulated further along the branch, making it dip and bringing his head and the shining red fruit down to her eye level. She looked at him, her eyes full of trust and wonder.

“But Adam said that we shouldn’t –”

“Don’t do what Adam ssssays,” Crawly whispered, his low, sibilant voice dripping honey. His tongue flickered out to tickle the end of her slightly turned-up nose. Eve’s lips turned up for a moment in a brief smile, then she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and looked down at the ground.

“He said that it was one of the conditions, that we don’t eat the –”

“Don’t you trussst me?” Crawly asked her a touch reproachfully, drawing back from her face and looking at her as dolefully as his yellow eyes could manage. He waited until she looked up, then turned away. “I’m hurt …”

“Of course I trust you,” Eve replied, reaching out and running her fingertips over his scales, turning his face back towards her. Crawly leant his head on her arm, then slithered over until he was coiled around her wrist with his head resting in the crook of her elbow. He was careful to keep enough of his body curled around the branch to keep the apple well within her reach.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?”

Eve looked at the apple, large and red and perfect. That morning’s dew still sparkled on its unbroken skin. Crawly let his tongue flick against the tender skin of Eve’s elbow in time with her heartbeat, making her shiver delightfully. Her skin under his scales turned to goosebumps. He closed his eyes and crooned, “Wouldn’t you love to tasssste it?”

He felt her body shift, but kept his eyes closed – not daring to open them – then the branch dipped as she took hold of the fruit. He slid off it as she tugged the apple free and set the branch bouncing, winding himself blindly up her arm until his head rested on her shoulder.

Only then did he open his eyes and look down at the apple cradled in Eve’s fingers. He coiled further up her arm and pressed the underside of his head to the pulsepoint just above her collarbone. Her heart was racing.

“Go on, take a bite,” he breathed, his own heartbeat speeding up to match hers. “I bet it’ll taste wonderful.”

~

_It was a nice day._

_All the days had been nice. There had been rather more than seven of them so far, and rain hadn’t been invented yet. But thunderclouds massing east of Eden suggested that the first thunderstorm was on its way, and it was going to be a big one._

Crawly slithered through the grass feeling dejected and downright lonely. Eve had tried to stamp on his head. He had wanted to apologise, and point out that he couldn’t actually see was so inherently bad about knowing the difference between good and evil – after all, knowing Evil surely only meant being able to avoid it more easily – but before he could get the words out, she had tried to stamp on him. Crawly supposed that that was what He’d meant when he’d said he would “put enmities between you and the woman, and your seed and her seed”. 

He hadn’t though that He’d actually meant it about the head-crushing part. 

His path brought him, completely by accident, to the Eastern Gate. Sitting beside it was an angel – the only one of them worth talking to[4]. He looked about as miserably as Crawly felt.

Suddenly, Crawly felt a pressing need for some companionship. He undulated over to the tree the angel was sitting beneath and coiled himself into a ring at the angel’s side. After a few seconds, he raised his head until it was level with the angel’s knee and peered up at him. The angel was staring at the approaching thunderheads with a vague sort of frown on his face, peering into the rapidly darkening evening as if looking for something. 

Crawly turned his head and looked out beyond the Eastern Gate. There wasn’t much to look at. He glanced up at the angel when he heard him sigh as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“ _Well, that one went down like a lead balloon_ ,” Crawly said. 

**_The Beginning_**

* * *

********

********

1 Prayer Delivery. Not the most glamorous of angelic jobs (especially since most of the prayers they had received so far were along the lines of, ‘I found a new animal to name today! What do you think? Will it do? I like it. By the way, this fruit is really nice, thanks a lot! We’re really grateful down here, you’re fantastic …’[2]) but someone had to do it. [ return to text ]

2 Except for one of the first one, which was far more demanding and quite frankly whiney than thankful.

3 Broadly speaking. There are, of course, no _days_ as such in Heaven. [ return to text ]

4 In truth, the angel of the Eastern Gate was the only angel who would give so much as the time of day to Crawly. They had only spoken once or twice – first when Crawly had been exploring the Garden, and after that usually when Eve wandered back to Adam and left Crawly basking in the sun somewhere – but each time the angel had been civil[5], even though he had been warning the demon of such things as consequences and how terrible they could be. [ return to text ]

5Unlike the others, who generally tried to cut him in half whenever they spotted him.

**Author's Note:**

> Aziraphale gets a cameo appearance (or two!) in Heaven - did you spot him? ;)
> 
> I based Hell on the Hell described in Milton’s _Paradise Lost_ – especially the valley of singing angels (quoted below, one of my favourite bits) and the Hell-gate.
> 
>  **Paradise Lost, Book Two**  
>  … Others more mild,  
> Retreated in a silent valley, sing  
> With notes Angelical to many a Harp  
> Their own Heroic deeds and hapless fall  
> By doom of Battle; and complain that Fate  
> Free Virtue should enthrall to Force or Chance.  
> Their song was partial, but the harmony  
> (What could it less when Spirits immortal sing?)  
> Suspended Hell, and took with ravishment  
> The thronging audience …
> 
> I got all my information on angels from Wikipedia and a now-defunct angelology website. I also lifted Crowley's angelic name from that website by mangling two names listed there, which were these:
> 
>  _Gadreel (Gadriel--Aramaic, "God is my helper")_  
>  It was Gadreel who, reputedly, led Eve astray -- which, if true, would make Gadreel rather than Satan the talking serpent and seducer in the Garden of Eden. Like Azazel, Gadreel made man familiar with the weapons of war.
> 
>  _Gadriel_  
>  Chief ruling angel of the 5th Heaven in charge of wars among nations. [see Gadreel.] When a prayer ascends to Heaven, Gadriel crowns it, then accompanies it to the 6th Heaven. Galearii are the lowest ranking angels.
> 
> I also took name inspiration from [Love Calls You By Your Name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/77217) by [Quantum_Witch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quantum_Witch/pseuds/Quantum_Witch), which gives Crowley the angelic name Gadre'el and is just beautiful. Highly recommend.


End file.
